George Karim

9

Chapter Nine

Arif was the gentleman who ran the corner shop down the road. It had everything from produce to ghost lamps. The doughnut selection was small, but each one was freshly made every day. I Pointed to the strawberry frosted one with rainbow confection signifying to the man behind the counter, who I found out the hard way is not Arif, my final choice. He wraps the doughnut and hands it to me in a white paper bag. I pay the man and head for the door.
A polite gentleman, who was entering, held the door for me to exit. I began to thank him for his chivalrous actions but immediately recognized the red-haired boy. He smiles wide and is almost cocky when the realization hits him too.
“Miss Flores. How are you today?”
I say nothing, partly because I learned over last night's meal about the rivalry Lockwood’s and Kipps’ and both teams had. But also, partly because I have yet to find a reason to hate the opposing group. After all, I am not really, or officially,  a part of Lockwood’s team yet. I stood in the doorway with my mouth agape and no words coming out. It was then something unexpected happened. Bobby Vernon came closer and out of the walkway.
“I-umm, I wanted to apologize for our last meeting.”, he said while fiddling with the hilt of his sword. “I realized I might have come off as”
“Rude?” I said, finishing his sentence.
His posture slumps in embarrassment. “ I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression of me. I was serious about my offer. Fittes is the top agency in London. I could even help you get in. If you wanted?”
I was hesitant. He looked almost sincere, or maybe he was just nervous. But, why would he be nervous? He was fidgeting, making minimal eye contact, and his cheeks were red. Wait, Does he like me?
I smile and give him a small nod. “I will consider it.”, and with that said, I left.
I return home to Portland Row and find George, Lucy, and Lockwood all sitting at the table which was swarmed with a mess of newspapers, magazines, and records. Lucy sat slumped in a chair nibbling on her nails whilst reading a list of names. Lockwood, wearing his uniform black and white suit, was reading a magazine. It was a peculiar sight because it was entirely in Spanish. To be honest, I don’t think he was actually reading it, more of scanning the pages with his eyes. George was the only one not sitting. His busy body moved about the kitchen preparing a meal of eggs, sausage, and toast. One curly strand stuck to his forehead just above his brow due to the sweat. I place the white paper bag down on the table and start straightening out the papers before me.
“Have you found anything yet?”, I ask the three.
“Nothing substantial yet, just a name.”, Lockwood said.
Most of the papers were now stacked neatly into plies and the scribbled-on cloth is now visible. A word caught my attention amongst the mass of doodles and other annotations, ‘la llorona’.
“La Llorona?”, I question.
“Is that how you pronounce it?”, Lockwood asks me. His attention was still on the pages.
“Yeah, but why are you looking for her? What happened? Children go missing?”, I poke at them with my sarcasm. But no one laughed with me. All three stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to me.
“What?”, I looked at them in puzzlement in return.
George wiped his glasses with the inside of his orange shit. He hands out the plates, sits down with the rest of the group, and begins to ask numerous questions. “How did you know kids went missing?”
“I didn’t. It’s the legend, you know? Wait, kids actually went missing?”
“Yeah, and they are saying it’s because of this ghost. It was hard to understand them because all the witnesses primarily speak Spanish.”
“Well, that would make sense. La Llorona is a Spanish legend.”, I sit in the last remaining seat and make myself comfortable. “La Llorona is like the Spanish Boogie man or woman in this case. She lures kids in and then drowns them. The story is a bit different depending on who you ask but one thing remains the same. The target and the method of killing. Children and Drowning. But, La Llorona is a cautionary tale for misbehaving kids. She’s not real…is she?” Lucy looked bewildered by the information. George just sat and studied me in silence. I couldn’t quite predict what was going on inside his mind. Lockwood on the other hand was grinning. Clearly, something I had said got his wheels turning.
“Do you know what this could mean?”, he asks the three of us.
There was no response to his question just the three of us looking from one another for an answer.
“If we solve this case of a Spanish Legend, then we could become one of the most famous agencies in London. This could get us amazing recognition.”, he spoke with great enthusiasm. “Say, Veronica. How much Spanish do you know?”
“Enough to be conversational,” I reply.
“Brilliant.” He then looks at each of us and informs, “Tomorrow night we go back, and this time you will come along. You will be our official translator. If all goes well you may even be able to pass your first grade.”
I smiled with excitement, but when I looked to George or Lucy I was met with looks of concern and worry.
George cuts in, “Lockwood! Are you out of your mind? She’s not ready. She hasn’t even learned how to use a rapier.”
“She’ll be fine,” Lockwood states. “She will learn. And besides, we don’t have the luxury of time.” He says the last bit directly at George. His tone was almost like asserting his dominance as the leader.
George gathered his papers and stormed off upstairs. I have noticed the tension between the two has been getting worse these last few days. Lockwood instructs Lucy to take me down to the training room and teach me fencing.
I didn’t like the basement too much. Especially knowing that’s where they kept sources. George did inform me the sources were not strong ones, but I still was weary of them. I warmed up and stretched while I waited for Lucy down in the training room. She appears with two iron swords I recognize from the front corridor and an old padded jacket.
“What’s the jacket for?”, I asked.
“It’s for you,” she replies and holds it up for me to take. “To protect you while learning.”
“Where’s yours?”
She laughs a bit, “Don’t worry You won’t be able to make a hit.” I was almost a bit offended at the lack of faith she had in me. She continues, “This is your sword, more commonly called a rapier. Now, hold it at the hilt.”
I do as commanded. Lucy ties up her hair in a low ponytail and her bangs become more prominent. “Perfect, now I am going to teach you parry. It’s a basic defense move. Something you will use a lot especially while encountering a visitor.” She changes her stance and I copy. Lucy stands to the left of me and I mimic her movements. I must have practiced that move over a thousand times. The point was to get my muscles to remember when the time came. She would stand in front sometimes and attack so I could practice my block against something else besides the air and smoke machine.
Hours passed and it was now dark outside. Lucy decided to call it quits for the day and cleaned up the rapiers and jacket. She then retired to the library where Lockwood sat on the couch reading this month's issue of some gossip magazine. I took the white paper bag from the last place I had left it and headed up the stairs. I stood outside the closed door with a hanging chalkboard reading the owner's name, George. I gave three small raps on the wood with my index knuckle. He opens it.
“Hi, I umm got you something.”, I hold up the bag.
“Is it from Arifs?”, he questions. I nod and he takes the bag and was about to close the door.
“What are you working on?”, I point to the mess on this desk.
“It’s the legend you mentioned earlier.”, he says. He then invites me in to explain his research. His room was nice and warm, a bit cluttered but otherwise comfy. The quilt on his bed was made of squares of reds, oranges, and yellows. Knickknacks also fille his room. A collection of comics sat in a stack at the corner under his bed and there were papers everywhere. When I say everywhere I mean, everywhere. They were on his desk, on the floor, on the bed, and even on the walls and closet.  The only light source illuminating the room was a desk lamp. George takes the doughnut out of the bag and begins to munch on it. He gives a satisfied smile to the sweet pastry in his hand.
“Right, La Llorona also called the weeping woman, originated from Latin America. In fact, she is thought to be from an Aztec myth.”, he says. He pauses for a moment to see if I was following.
I told him, “I know.” I pointed at the depictions of her story and narrated for him. “They say she was a native woman from Mexico, during the time of the conquistadors. She fell deeply in love with a Spanish man and had children. She was happy with him and the family they had created, but they had to keep their love secret. The Spanish man was afraid of what other Spaniards would think. Eventually, he left and married another woman. She was so distraught that she murdered her own children who she had loved as deeply as her lover. Now she waits near rivers or bodies of water to lure children and drown them.”
There was a pause before he spoke again, and then he began rummaging through the papers on his desk. “You said she waits near water?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”
He found the papers he had been searching for and handed them to me. “Because the last two places Lucy and Lockwood visited were flooded. And these statements from the clients. It explained what they had witnessed. I don’t know much Spanish, but I do recognize one word.”
“Auga, water”, I spoke realizing it was on every paper. I sat on his bed flipping through the pages. George sat across the room on his desk chair waiting intently for me to speak. Everything was mostly in Spanish but I understood the gist of the statements. The children had claimed to see a lady in white, a flood occurs and then the children would go missing. Always in that sequence.
“George, this is terrible. The kids tried to warn the parents about the lady in white and then a flood happens and then the kids disappear.” I was getting emotional looking at the pictures the clients had provided. I couldn’t imagine the thought of what the kids could have gone through. Their innocent faces make a  shiver run down my spine and George notices. He offers to make tea and leaves to the kitchen while I stay. I look out the dark window and see my reflection. Dark circles overtake under my eyes, and my eyes were red from exhaustion. I lay down planning to rest only for a bit, but before I knew it I had dozed off.
I don't know how long I was out for but when I awoke George was laying asleep on the floor. His glasses had been taken off and placed to the side, and his hair flopped to one side. His head was resting on a pillow from the couch and his left hand rested on his chest. I watched his chest rise and fall, the steady breathing was a peaceful sight. My eyes fall to his right arm and followed it up to his hand where it was intertwined with mine. This now had my full attention. Why was he holding my hand? This is out of character for him. He hates touchy feely situations. Did he take my hand or did I? Should I let go? What if that wakes him? What if he wakes up to us holding hands? I didn't let go. I held on partially because I didn't want to wake him, and partially because I secretly enjoyed this. It was similar to how I felt holding the sources. I felt comfort, warmth, protection, like there were no worries in the world. It was just us in the room and no one else who could disturb it.
I guess I spoke too soon.
A knocking at the door startled us and my hand retracted. George is awaken and answers the door. Lockwood leans against the door frame and makes a comment, " sharing a bed now are we?". He smirks to me as George looks back to the view of the girl currently occupying his bed. Lockwood continues to say, " It makes sense now, and why you are always together. George never lets anyone touch his things. I can't even use his egg cup."
George almost panics and pushes Lockwood out of the room, preventing him from saying anything else.